More than that, I really really like the man he’s become.
It also helps that I took one look at him in jeans and a cashmere sweater over a collared shirt, a pair of rugged boots on his feet, looking for all the world like he could pilot a fishing boat and then go brew his own beer, and want nothing more than to jump him.
I want to rip those clothes off him and sink my teeth into those muscles and feel his arms wrapped around me.
He pulls to a stop in front of the limestone mansion, someplace I’ve been purposefully avoiding since I walked out the first time. Seeing it now brings back a flood of memories, only some of them painful.
We’re silent as we climb the stoop and he unlocks the door. Inside, I see the changes almost immediately. The family photos are gone, as are a lot of the expensive, oversized antiques.
The former sitting room has been transformed into a small waiting room, with a few chairs and a table with some magazines. There’s a large desk for an assistant just outside the waiting area, in the foyer, but no nameplate.
The rest of the rooms have been outfitted with doors where there previously were none, I’m assuming to turn them into offices and conference rooms to give their inhabitants privacy.
“I’m on the third floor,” he says, and I nod. I follow him up the familiar stairs, but when we get to the third floor, instead of the expansive landing with the fireplace and the leaded glass windows, we’re met with a brand new wall and a front door with a brass plate that reads “Private Residence” in loopy script. He pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the front door, letting me in. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he says, almost sheepishly.
I step in to find a beautifully redesigned space with the site of the landing now a cozy living room. Down the hall, I see one of the bedrooms has been turned into an eat-in kitchen with white tile and cabinets and shiny stainless steel appliances. Further down I suspect I’ll find bedrooms, though I remain rooted in my spot, suddenly nervous. So I decide to deflect the only way I know how. By making stupid jokes.
“Humble? Please. Did you see my place? Even the mice are embarrassed to bring guests back there.” I laugh at my own joke, which only makes it less funny. When Levi laughs, I suspect it’s more kindness than anything else. But still, his accompanying smile calms my nerves.
“It’s definitely a drastic change to the property, but really I was only living in like, three rooms of this place anyway. Now I’ve just relocated them all to the same floor.” He gazes around, clearly trying to take it in with new eyes for a moment.
“It’s great, Levi. I know it’s a giant cliché, but I like what you’ve done with the place,” I tell him, and I mean it.
We both fall silent and suddenly the air feels charged.
Levi looks at me, his eyes dark with a kind of need and longing that makes my belly tighten and my nipples stiffen.
“I’m glad you came back here,” he says. “Because everything I did in here, I had you in mind when I did it. All of these changes, every little design, every touch was made because I thought you might like it.”
My breath is taken away by this admission. “Levi,” I sigh.
“You have no idea what you mean to me, angel,” he says, and then he walks closer to me. Now I’m toe to toe with him, gazing up into his eyes. I’d forgotten just how tall he is, and how safe he can make me feel just from looming over me.
“Tell me what I mean to you,” I say, needing to hear it said out loud.
“I’m in love with you,” he says, and even though I told myself I’d never fall for him again, never trust a word he says—I can’t help it.
Somehow I know that it’s all true.
His arms go around my waist, and he pulls me to him with impressive force, our mouths meeting in a cataclysm of passion. My hands find their way to the back of his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair, which is shaggier now.
He kisses me like he’s trying to absorb me, inhale me, devour me, and I melt with every touch of his lips or flick of his tongue against mine. When his hands go down to my ass, I practically leap onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist. I can feel his hardness against me. He walks me backwards until my back is against the wall, his mouth still covering mine, and uses it to brace me so he can tug my shirt over my head.
His eyes go straight to my naked breasts.
“I always did love that about you,” he growls, dipping his head to take one pebbled nipple into his mouth, nipping the tip with his teeth. I feel warmth and wetness flood through my body, and I grind against him, I want him so bad. I drop my feet to the floor so that I can get a good grip on the hem of his own shirt, tugging until it’s free, then letting my hands roam the landscape of his taught, muscled chest. And then, without waiting, I reach for his belt buckle, fumbling, but still making quick work.